


Crash

by Saskia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Biting, Claiming, Human Stiles, M/M, Mates, Mating, Scenting, Wolf Derek, Wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saskia/pseuds/Saskia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their plane crashes in Alaska, Stiles and four other survivors try to stay alive, but a pack of merciless wolves haunts their every step.</p><p>What would you sacrifice to stay alive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dear dad,

I know you always suspected I never fully told you the truth about what happened to me after the plane crash. You were right. I hope that after reading this letter, you will understand, why I had to do what I did.

I suppose I should start at the very beginning, even though, at the time, I didn't know it was the beginning of my own personal hell.

Alone in my room, writing this letter, wearing the scars, inside and outside of what I left behind. When reading this, you will find me gone, gone from this house, gone from this world. Do not think that I have taken this decision lightly.

But let me go back …

Bags packed, plane ticket in hand, goodbyes to my aunt and her third husband. Snowplows grinding outside the house, taxi waiting. Time to go north.

My aunt lives in Anchorage, Alaska. The reason for me being here? My dad insisted someone of our family be present at her third wedding since he could not, sheriff duties preventing him.

At the airfield, I look out the window and see the wind bucking the wings of the plane, scaring the family members come to say goodbye. On board, families behind us, I buckle in, look at the tarmac, watch the snow blow across, waiting for the plane to depart.

As we fly over Alaska’s snowy mountains, the view breathtaking, I’m starting to feel turbulence. I can feel my heart start to race. Something is wrong. Everybody grabs their arm-rests, waiting as the plane fights to stay in the air. 

I feel my body rock by the sheer velocity as the top of hundred-year-old trees are sheared off. My head snaps forward as the plane continues along a course that tares off its wings and throws the passengers around like rag dolls in a hurricane.

Metal banging and tearing like it’s dying, tables drop, lockers pop open and bags, coats, phones, laptops, books fly by and somebody’s keys smack me in the face. The windows explode, glass flies everywhere, the plane splits and everything goes dark.

I know I’m alive because there is no way in hell it hurts this much to be dead. I blink several times, waiting for the world to come into focus before shifting my weight and sitting up. I ignore the pain that tells me I’m battered and bruised, but that nothing seems to be broken and I think if I’m breathing at all, I didn’t break any ribs.

I can’t see where I am at first, but I know I’m outside the plane. Everything is outside the plane. I try to take in my environment through my blurry vision. Cold, dark, moon, snow, scattered pieces of plane, loose seats, bags, bodies, snow falling, trees in the distance, mountains covered in snow.

I see movement up ahead. I’m on my feet and walking, suddenly feeling the cold twice as much. I stop a couple of times and check the bodies I can get to, but nobody I check is alive, the guys ahead of me are the only things moving. 

“Can you move?” I ask.  
“It hurts.” He’s barely remembering to breathe. He’s freezing. So am I.  
“It’s good it hurts.” I say.  
I look at him to see if he understands.  
“Oh yeah? Good?” he says. “I’m fucking terrific, then.”  
“What’s bleeding sir?” I ask.  
“The name is Matt.” He looks down, lifts his shirt, his side and stomach are scratched and cut but it doesn’t look bad, just cuts. It’s too cold to worry about infection. If there is a fucking bacteria alive in this, it deserves whatever it can get.

I look across the snow to the other guy. Nothing seems wrong with him except he’s still unsteady, but no bones sticking out or limbs going the wrong way.  
He looks at me.  
“You ok?” he asks.  
“Yeah.”  
“I’m Dave.” he says.

The cold is drawing the life out of me, we will all die if we don’t find shelter soon.  
“We should try to get to that leftover plane piece.” I suggest.  
Dave looks at the distance.  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Matt says. He looks like he’d rather die right here.  
I just look at them, Dave nods, starts walking.

I stop at the first body we pass. The guy has boots on. I pull them off, his jacket and his sweater too. Dave doesn’t say anything. I give the jacket to him. He looks surprised, but takes it.

Of the bodies we can see close to us, it’s plain enough they’re dead. I should start assuming everybody’s dead.

We walk, we don’t talk, we’re all out of breath. We get up closer and I see it’s another big piece of broken airplane tube.

I see two more men sitting in the snow. They look beaten half-to-death. We must look the same, I think.

I can hear yelling from inside the tube. One of the men nods to the hole in the fuselage.  
“More in there.” he says.  
We step closer and see inside. It’s chaos, field-hospital, everybody groaning, gasping, swearing, yelling all at once. Near the opening I see a man, missing a hand, blanket around the stump. The woman next to him, leg gone, below the knee, somebody's tied it off for her. 

Nobody knows what to do. It’s cold like you wouldn’t believe, and we’re among the dead, and dying. Nobody’s thinking clearly.

“We should start a fire.”  
Nobody moves, or answers, but Dave and Matt nod.  
“Any of you smoke? Any of you have lighters?” I ask.  
I start going through the pockets of dead guys looking for a lighter and find one, a little plastic disposable. It lights. 

We start tearing out loose cushions and piling them in the snow by the opening. I try lighting them, they flare up, six feet high. Some of the guys cheer. It’s something I guess. We’re alive.  
I turn and head out. Dave and the others follow. Matt stays behind with the wounded. 

Outside it seems colder than before, and darker in the shadows, but there is still moon on the snow. We keep walking, past more pieces of plane, more dead.

We look and mostly fumble around in the dark for anything that looks like survival or signal stuff, some kind of transponder, but neither of us has any idea what we’re looking for. For some reason we expect to find a flare gun or an emergency kit, tents or rations. No such luck. 

I keep looking to either side of us, at all the bodies we pass, to see if any of them is moving. None of them are. We go and keep going until we start to see dozens of chunks of wood, thrown here as the plane came through.

Everybody starts gathering wood, dumping it in blankets or just loading up their arms. It doesn’t take long, we can’t carry much. We start heading back for the fire in the distance.

I find myself staring at the snow, getting breath. I feel like I’ve been walking in snow for a year and now I’ve got a blanket full of wood that weighs more the further I drag it. 

I turn, look back, another second, a little further into the dark. One of the dead is moving, trying to get up, he looks bad. I let go of the load of wood and start running back to him.  
“I’m coming.”  
I shout and run, as hard as I can, because he’s shivering, convulsing.  
I see something jump off him. It’s a wolf, ripping at the guy, the dead guy. The wolf just stares at me. 

I charge at it, screaming. I don’t know why I’m charging, but the wolf looks up and stares at me, just watches me come at him. I’m expecting the wolf to twitch, turn tail and jump off the body but he isn’t fucking moving, he’s just watching me.

Then I’m slammed into the snow by another wolf. I feel something digging into my back, I understand it’s another wolf, locked onto the back of my jacket, its dragging me the best it can, and I’m face down in snow. I get half up, almost standing, but he hangs on. I hear him growling.

The other wolf jumps on my back, preventing me from fully getting up. I’m standing with two of them hanging on to me by their jaws, and they aren’t letting go. I’m trying to swat with my elbows but I can’t see them. I’m trying to smash the wolf on my right, I pull his ear and I bash with my elbow at his head, as hard as I can, like I’m trying to crack his skull. I hear jacket ripping and he’s snorting, growling, but he is not flinching except to get a better grip and try to drag me into the direction of the forest.

I look up as the other wolf gets hold of my pants, and I kick as hard as I can before he can sink his teeth in.

I don’t think of running because I know they would hunt me down. 

I hear yelling coming across the snow, guys charging and boots thumping, my knuckles and my head are getting smashed with lumps of wood. I see Dave with a piece of wood in his hands, swinging, Matt too, but I still have the wolves on me. Then Dave swings his log like a bat and knocks one right off me, and Matt swings his piece of wood down on the other. The wolves release me, turn and face us.

I try to get to my feet but all I do is slip over backwards and hit the snow. I pull up to see where the wolves are. They keep staring at me and ignore Matt and Dave like they are not standing here with their logs, ready to swing. A loud growl sounds from the forest and they just turn and trot off, into the dark. 

Finally I move, get up on my feet. Dave and the others look at me like I’m not supposed to get up, because I should be dead. 

The wolves are gone, gone from where I can see them. 

“Let’s get back.” I say.

We finally come up to the heat of the fire, what’s left of it.

“What the hell happened to you?” The legless woman asks.  
“We just saved the boy from two wolves trying to drag him back to their lair.”  
“Den.” Stiles corrects.  
“What?” Dave asks.  
“Wolves have a den, not a lair.”  
“You know about wolves boy?”  
“Yes I do.”

I’ve known wolves, when I was younger. I met them on hunts, going out with my grandfather, tracking them, killing them. My grandfather was afraid of wolves, hated them for it, and made it his business to punish every one he met. They were something else to him, darkness, death or fear, all the worst things he was, he saw in them, which none of them deserved. He took money to kill them some of the time, like his father did before him, an Argent family tradition and made it his mission the rest of the time. My mother was the first Argent to refuse to participate in what she called massacres.  
“The wolf is the only animal who’ll avenge his brother.” she’d say and leave me to wonder what she meant.

I’ve watched wolves, tracked them, met them eye to eye in the woods, and a wolf will never do what these two just did to me. So I did something to be dragged away like that, I think. I’ve never seen a wolf go out of his way to make sure not to hurt his prey and drag it to their den alive. But I’ve heard stories. Every hunter has stories. Maybe they smelled wolf on me, from years ago, maybe they smelled my grandfather.

“What the fuck happened? They just jumped on you?” Matt asks.  
I don’t know any more than he does.  
“I must have pissed them off.” I say.  
“Yeah, but they didn’t bite you, they just tried to drag you towards the woods.” Matt notes.  
“More than likely they won’t bother us again.” I tell them.  
They all look at me but none of them really believes it.  
“They are probably short on females and mistaken Stiles for a girl.” Dave jokes.  
Then all of them are laughing their asses off, except me, because those wolves, will be back.

To be continued …

* * *

Please share your thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

The wind is blowing through the wreckage, pieces of broken metal and plastic flap back and forth, waking Stiles from slumber. The fire’s out, Dave is sleeping on the snow next to him. Stiles looks to see if he is frozen to death or just sleeping. Dave is alive. A miracle, because letting the fire go out was stupid enough to kill all of them.

Stiles’s eyes are burning from frost and wind. He looks out across the snow. No wolves, which is what he was looking for, feeling like a fool because he knows he’s afraid.

Stiles gets up, shakes Dave and the two other men, Sam and Liam, who he met yesterday when arriving at the wreckage, because sleeping in the cold too long, they’ll just die. Dave stands up, walks into the tube to wake up the wounded. He puts his hand on the woman with the missing leg, touches her face.  
“She’s dead!” Dave yells.  
“Check the others.” Stiles commands.  
All of them dead. Too far from the fire, not enough blankets, wounded, they never had a chance.  
“We should move the bodies outside.”  
Nobody wants to pick up the dead, but we don’t want to spend the night with them, either. We carry them out one by one, as gently as we can, past the dead fire, out to the snow. 

Tracks, paws, all around us. Stiles looks back over to the plane, measuring the distance. The wolves had gotten close. He sees brown spots all over. The wolves marked their territory. Stiles takes a few steps up the hill, and can see a little further. He sees blood. It doesn’t look like it’s from any of the dead they brought out, they didn’t drag them, they carried them. Stiles looks back at the plane again, nothing moving, just Dave standing by the opening, watching him, anxious.

Stiles walks out to the blood, trying to figure out what he is seeing, then he sees Matt, all ripped to pieces. Matt came out to pee in the night and this is what happened to him. What an idiot, to come this far out.

Sam and Liam walk towards Stiles, followed by Dave. They all stare at Matt. He was a big guy, strong, and he looks like very little, right now.  
“They fucking ate him?” Dave asks.  
Stiles looks at the dead body again.  
“They weren’t eating him.” Stiles says. “Just killing him.”  
Stiles wishes he spoke the language, or understood the rules, but it isn’t complicated, the wolves want them all dead, or gone.  
“They pissed all over this place. They mean to have it.” Stiles says. “They don’t want us here.”

A wolf can kill a bear, or a mountain lion, if they’re too near his den. He won’t eat those either, he just doesn’t want them around.

“I’ve lived in Alaska all my life and have never seen a wolf paw-print this big.” Dave is looking at the snow, the paw-prints.  
“What do we do now?” he asks.  
“Get the fuck out.” Stiles answers.  
Sam looks across the clearing.  
“Maybe we should stay here.” Sam says. “The rescue team will be here soon, looking for us near the wreckage.”  
Liam nods. They both look scared.  
“With the short amount of daylight, the massive amount of ground to cover , the plane being off-course when we came down, all they’re going to find, if they ever finally find us, is a wreck and dead bodies including ours.” Stiles all but yells, losing his patience.  
Nobody says anything. Most of them nod. Like there are a lot of fucking alternatives.  
“The plane is shelter though.” Liam says.  
“It is.” Stiles nods. “But we’ll die in it before anybody comes.”

__________

We split into watches to keep the fire going. Dave finally falls asleep, but neither he nor Sam or Liam seem to sleep for long. Stiles tends the fire and watches them wake up in shifts, lie there, scared of dying, cold, starving, wolves. Sam sleeps as near the fire as he can without setting himself ablaze.

Before long Stiles sees them, wolves. Dave looks out, trying to see what Stiles is looking at, he kicks Liam and Sam. We’re all standing, stone-still, staring at the same moving shadows in the snow. Nobody says anything.

The wolves circle closer, watching. One of them steps forward, black fur, much bigger than the others, the alpha. He sits, staring at Stiles, 6 yards out maybe, a little glow from the fire reaching him. The other wolves stop circling, spread out next to the alpha, sit down too, all staring at Stiles, minutes pass, Stiles’s heart has forgotten how to beat and his legs have gone completely numb.

Stiles doesn’t mean to do it but he finds himself staring back at the alpha. The wolf snarls, gets up and trots off, just like that, the other wolves get up and follow the alpha’s lead, toward the trees where they came from, disappearing in the night.

The guys look at each other, at Stiles.  
“What the fuck were they doing?” Liam asks.  
Stiles is still looking at the clearing, watching to see if the wolves are circling back.  
“They’re curious.” Stiles shrugs. “We’re on their turf.”  
This seems to make sense to everyone, but somehow they keep looking at Stiles with questions in their eyes.  
“The big one was staring at you.” Dave notes.  
“Did you see his big cock?” Sam asks. “He was just sitting there with a giant erect cock between his legs, staring at Stiles.”

It would have been funny and Stiles would have laughed under different circumstances, like that one summer when all the monkeys in the zoo had shown Stiles their butts, Jackson made this bad gay joke about it and everyone was laughing.

“Some kind of wolf dominance behavior perhaps?” Dave suggests.  
They all nod, except for Stiles, he has never seen a wolf show any signs of behavior resembling what just happened. Liam looks at Stiles.  
“If we’re on their turf, are they going to make us leave?”  
“We’re walking out tomorrow. That’s all we need to think about.” Stiles answers.

Everyone’s thinking about going back inside the tube, but as safe as that seemed before, now no one wants to leave the fire, as if the fire gives us anything. Nobody sleeps, for a long time.

To be continued …

* * *

Please share your thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

They have been walking a long time, barely able to see the plane behind them but somehow the trees don’t look any closer.

“Should we stop? Make a fire?” Dave asks.  
Stiles doesn’t know. He looks at the trees, tries to guess the distance.  
“All we have to burn is the wood we took for protection.” 

They are standing between the safety of the plane and the darkness of the forest, feeling stranded, gone wrong already, Sam and Liam struggling to keep up, falling behind.

“What if they come at us?”  
“Don’t run. You can’t outrun them and they like a good chase. Stand your ground, try to look big, make noise, run right at them, pray they decide you’re not worth the risk.” Stiles says. “They might let us slide if we make the trees.”  
“How much further are the fucking trees?” Dave looks up at Stiles, as if when they are in the trees they will be home free, which isn’t what Stiles meant.  
“I don’t know. I misjudged the distance.”  
Dave looks at Stiles like he’s a tour guide who doesn’t know his job.

Then, like before, Stiles sees something, shadows moving in the dark, two from the right, four from the left, one from behind, coming at Liam. They don’t seem interested in Sam. They’ve chosen Liam.

Stiles starts running, straight for Liam, but then shifts, heading for the one coming from the right, the one closest to Liam, waving his arms, shouting, trying to look like a threat. Liam looks at Stiles, sees him running, looks around. He sees the one from the right Stiles is charging at but he doesn’t see the wolves from behind him, or the ones on the left. Sam stumbles backwards in terror when he sees the wolves closing in on Liam, stands there, frozen.  
The one Stiles is charging at finally turns towards him so he has gained Liam ten seconds maybe, or five, and now Stiles has to keep charging at the one he has committed to.  
“Get on the others! Go!” Stiles yells at Dave and Sam. 

Liam doesn’t have any fight in him, and one of the wolves bites at Liam’s neck, the other wolves smell the blood and shoot at him like knives across the snow. Stiles can’t see Liam under the massive pile of wolves but he still tries to get to him.

“Wait!” Dave yells. “To your side!”  
Stiles looks around, and sees why Dave is shouting. The alpha wolf is there, charging at him, cutting him off. Stiles stops dead in his tracks, involuntary, from fear. Other wolves show up from nowhere to stand at the alpha’s flanks, stopping Stiles or anybody else from getting to Liam.

Liam’s quiet by now, not making any noise loud enough for Stiles to hear. Stiles is being forced to watch while Liam is being ripped to pieces.

Liam is dead, the first two wolves who hit him are walking away from the body, leaving the others, then one by one they all stop and stroll away, leaving a bloody mess in the snow. Stiles falls on his knees, beaten.

Stiles looks at Dave, terrified. The wolves look at them like somebody who’s just hit you and is waiting to see if you got the point, if you’re going to try and get up again, or if you understand who just hit you, and how hard. 

The alpha wolf sits down, calmly, staring at Stiles. Not close enough for Stiles to reach out and grab him, or swing at him, if he was that brave. Stiles can’t hear anything behind him, he doesn’t know if Sam and Dave are still there, and he’s afraid to look. Then the alpha gets up and charges at Stiles, straight across the snow, not taking his eyes off Stiles for a second.  
Stiles just stares at him, afraid to do anything, waiting. Stiles remembers other wolves he had staring matches with, and he’s never seen one look at him like this. This one hates every winter he’s ever had, hates the fifty blood brawls he’s fought because he’s the biggest, and the meanest. The wolf bares his teeth, all out of his mouth for show. Stiles feels like the alpha is still deciding what he’s going to do with him.

The alpha’s eyes glow red as he leans in, trapping Stiles between his hard body and the snow. The wolf lowers his head, the tip of his wet nose barely brushing over Stiles’s skin, down his cheek, behind his ear, to the corner of his jaw. The wet slide of a tongue licking Stiles’s mouth, forcing it open and licking inside, wipes all thoughts from Stiles’s mind.

Then the alpha turns, circles around, returns toward the dark from which he came, taking his beta’s with him. The alpha looks back at Stiles, the head beta next to him, starts to howl, and all the other wolves join in, the alpha tilts his head back and howls too. Stiles still doesn’t move, he just sits there, listening to the wolves howling, watching them fade into the dark, one by one, until the last one stops howling and Stiles can’t see or hear them anymore.

Stiles is finally brave enough to stand up and look around at Dave and Sam, standing still, shocked, listening for paws in the snow. Stiles looks back to the trees where they were heading before the wolves came after Liam, and starts walking.

The others don’t move at first, then they follow because they want to stick together. Stiles looks around in the dark, and he still can’t see the wolves, he knows they might be standing there, waiting.

Stiles pulls his pack off, kneels down and gets the piece of wood out, feeling like an idiot for not having it ready before. Everybody else does the same. They head for the trees again, walking fast, making up the ground they lost going back to defend Liam, waiting every step for something else to come out of the dark, take another one of them. Sometimes wolves want the weakest, if they’re hunting, and sometimes the strongest, if they’re fighting. Stiles tries to act like neither. 

After hours of not seeming any closer, they are finally in the trees. Stiles keeps rushing on blind, one arm in front, ramming into branches and trunks, falling into holes. They make their way forward, through the maze of dead and fallen trees. Stiles tries to hear if any of the wolves are coming in behind them, trees creak and crackle, everything sounds like wolf to him. 

Stiles looks out to the clearing, he can’t see anything but snow, and dark. There’s nothing but wind, falling and tripping in the snow, huffing like cattle. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s smart or not, but he wants to rest.

“We should stop.” Stiles whispers to Dave and Sam.  
They drop packs, their pieces of wood, collapse in the snow.  
“You think they’re in here?” Dave asks.  
“I don’t know.” Stiles answers.  
They’re freezing, but afraid to build a fire, in case it tells the wolves where they are. They rather stay in the dark and freeze, more scared than before, after what happened to Matt and Liam.

Afraid or not, Stiles knows they’ll freeze sitting here. After a minute he gets up, starts collecting firewood.  
“We want to do that?” Dave asks.  
“They know where we are.” Stiles says, because he has known that all along.  
Dave and Sam turn to block the wind the best they can as Stiles lights the fire. They all find or drag pieces of wood to sit on instead of the snow. 

Stiles is thinking about his mom and dad, which he has tried not to do, but here they are, around the fire with him. Long before she died, his mom had a dream that wolves took Stiles, dragged him off in the snow, claimed him as revenge for all the wolf lives lost at the hands of her family. The dream, or vision as she later called it, made it so Stiles never saw any of the Argent family ever again. When his father asked what happened to Stiles in the dream after the wolves dragged him through the snow, she refused to answer him. When Stiles asked her about it when he was older, his mother told him the black wolf would claim him. When Stiles asked her how, she got up, terrified, ran from his room and never spoke of it again. “Surrender and live or run and die!” She told Stiles on her death bed. A couple of days later she died. Stiles’s father said she was delirious at the end and Stiles should not try to make sense of her last words. 

Everybody sits, quiet, watching the dark and the fire. Stiles feels himself slipping, falling asleep.

Stiles looks up from the fire, wondering if he had fallen asleep, and how long. Sam and Dave are awake and talking about him. 

“The wolves want him and they will kill both of us to get to him.” Sam whispers  
“Are you hearing yourself talk?” Dave asks.  
“If you have any sense left, we give them what they want, we give them Stiles!”

To be continued …

* * *

Please share your thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

The fire’s down, the cold creeps into his body, from lying on the snow for too long. Stiles can see everyone’s asleep. How they could possibly fall asleep when a thousand yards back, wolves were on them, Stiles doesn’t know. It’s an escape, maybe. What do you do after watching people die? Eventually you’ll sleep again, it’ll come.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do about the conversation he overheard. He’s not worried, Dave won’t leave him and Sam isn’t brave enough to venture out on his own. Sam might turn against him so Stiles needs to be ready. Great. Now he has to watch out for wolves and the man standing beside him, his supposed ally, the man watching his back. 

As a young boy Stiles asked his mother why people behave as they do. She told him there was a wolf in the heart of all men, a wolf that drives them. “What will it make me do?” Stiles would ask her. “It depends on the wolf.” she’d say.

Stiles tries not to dwell on the truth of Dave and Sam’s conversation. He remembers fighting the wolves off, or trying to, but the beasts weren’t interested in killing him, the wolves simply wanted to take him, and when Stiles thought they had him it felt like a cliff he didn’t want to go off. He didn’t want them to take what he didn’t want to give. 

Suddenly he feels they’ve stayed too long. Stiles knocks his boots together in the snow to clean the treads, like that's going to matter after two steps. He hauls himself to his feet, and reaches toward Dave, shaking him. Dave snaps awake, startled. 

“I think we should keep moving, if we can.” Stiles suggests.  
Dave nods, shakes Sam, he wakes up and looks unhappy to see they’re still here. Stiles pulls his pack on, as Sam gets to his feet, except Dave, who’s struggling. Stiles bends down to help Dave up, then abruptly stops his movements.

The wolves are standing there, staring at them. Stiles didn’t hear them come, they’re just there. Sam sees me staring, looks, Dave too. The wolves are very close, at the edge of what’s left of the firelight, looking at us.

“Shit.” Dave says, still on the ground, fumbling for his knife, he can’t find it. Dave is the only one moving, he keeps patting around in the snow trying to find his knife and finally he finds it behind him, he was almost sitting on it, and he half gets up and falls back down with it, point up.  
“If they come at us, we fight them.” Stiles whispers, staring at the wolves in front.

Stiles keeps looking for the big one, the Alpha, he doesn’t see him. Stiles doesn’t know what the other wolves are doing, sniffing, choosing one of them to kill or deciding to kill all of them at once, or just waiting for the Alpha. Finally the big wolf comes out of the dark, stands there, staring with the rest of them. The Alpha straightens his body, leans forward, makes a line, nose to back, pointing at Dave.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Sam asks.  
“Choosing.”  
The big wolf looks from Dave to Sam, sniffing. Then he shifts, barely, pointing at Dave, again.  
“Is he fucking looking at me? He’s what, choosing me?”  
“If they hit you, we’ll get them off. You’ll be ok.” Stiles knows he is lying, but they can try.

All the wolves are looking at Dave now, which is turning Dave into jelly, he’s panting, shaking, starting to scrabble backwards.  
“Stay put.” Stiles tells him.  
“Oh Jesus. God, Jesus.” Dave prays.

Dave jumps, flicks his eyes to a skinny wolf on his flank, gasping. Stiles didn’t see that wolf before, but there it is, Dave yelps and half-shoves backwards, looking the wolf in the eye. The wolf looks right back at Dave, takes a step closer. Stiles half-turns to be ready, but he can’t turn too far or he is showing his back to the others. 

It doesn’t matter. The wolf shoots in, rushing forward. Dave screams, holds his knife up, fumbling, actually half-keeping the wolf at bay, it stops.

We wait another second and then the wolf shoots in the rest of the way, jumps Dave, and all the other wolves, all but the big one, run around us and past us, shoot in at Dave too. Dave’s eyes go wide, Stiles picks up his knife and charges after them, Sam does the same, hoping the big one doesn’t charge up from behind.

The wolves have all jumped on Dave by now, putting their backs to Stiles and Sam, none of the wolves are turning, either they’ve counted them out, or they thought Stiles and Sam were going to let them take Dave.

Stiles starts roaring, knife high, and attacks one of the wolves, amazed to see the knife sink under the beast’s fur. The wolf twists and snarls, turning away from Dave to see what just bit him. Stiles yanks the knife back out but stumbles back in the snow and drops his weapon. At least the wolf’s off Dave. Stiles looks back, still down, scared, to see where the big one is and he’s gone.

The wolf Stiles attacked runs to the side and into the dark, Stiles doesn’t know where it is at all, running around to come at him another way, maybe. Stiles searches around in the snow for his knife as Sam is roaring and swinging his log at yet another wolf. Stiles grabs for the knife and scrambles back to his feet as he sees Sam ram his log into his next victim, hitting the wolf’s side, hard.

Stiles looks for the Alpha again, fleeing wolves are running around him, up a rise, maybe the big one is with them, but Stiles loses them in the dark. Sam is pounding at the last two wolves on Dave, or trying to, one is jumping away from the knife, and runs up the slope into the dark as if nothing happened to him at all.

Sam, knife in hand, stabs the remaining wolf, the beast finally flinches and jumps off Dave, falls into the snow. The animal hunches and twists, but he doesn’t get up, then he’s still. Stiles stares at the wolf, he should be glad the animal is dead, but he’s not. Stiles feels sick. The wolf’s fur is wet, blood clinging to his coat, there’s red in the snow now, and Stiles looks at the wolf and feels sick still, more, churning. Why? Stiles doesn’t know.

The Alpha finally shows himself, looking down at them, from the rise, the others with him, staring. Stiles looks at Dave, who somehow is alive, still. He keeps gasping and looking at his middle where they were tearing at him and once again it is hard to believe he isn’t dead.

“Yeah, you fuckers, fucking yeah!” Dave yells, which is surprising, from the sight of him, because they did get him pretty well, but he’s whooping now, lying there. He tries to get up, but flops back again, still laughing.

Stiles looks up again. The wolves are still watching. The Alpha looks at him, staring, and then sudden as that he turns and strolls into the dark, and Stiles can’t see him anymore, the others flow after him like smoke, they’re gone. Stiles stares into the dark, they all do, waiting, looking around, but they can’t see anything, or hear anything.

“Yeah! Fuck you, fuckers!” Sam yells and Dave smiles. Not really smiling, sort of shocked and beaten half-happy. Sam too. 

Stiles approaches Dave and lifts his jacket, the shreds of it, his sweater, everything’s soaked in blood, and Stiles can see he’s all ripped, they got into him, Stiles doesn’t know how they did so quick, get so much of him. Stiles knows he broke his promise, they got the wolves off, but they took too long. Stiles tells himself they got one, but it doesn’t help Dave much. His legs are all ripped too, deep in the thigh. Stiles thought they’d have more chance to save him. Bad calculation. 

“Is it bad?” Dave asks.  
“You’ll live.” Stiles lies again. Sam stares at him. 

Suddenly the wolves come out of the dark, again, just like that, they’re there, the big one and the others, they were there all along, but they step in close enough for them to see, now. They start to circle, far out to their right and left, watching them, and then Stiles sees more behind them, on his flank.

Sam just starts running through the trees, like a maniac. It’s one kind of chance if you're crazy enough to run toward them but it’s no chance at all if you run when they’re behind you, they’ll hunt you down.  
“Don't run!” Stiles yells out. “Don’t fucking run!”  
Sam isn’t listening. The wolves are just watching, straining to take off after him, but not going, yet.

Suddenly Dave is on his feet, adrenaline probably, and starts trying to run Sam down before the wolves do. Stiles charges after Dave a few steps and stops, yelling “Don’t!” but Dave keeps going, so now both of them are running through the trees, the wolves shooting across the snow at Sam and Dave, leaving Stiles behind, alone with the Alpha.

To be continued …

* * *

Please share your thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles realizes that this might be the last he will ever see of Sam and Dave. The wolves will most likely kill them, if not, the cold will finish what remains alive.  
He looks towards the Alpha, fear almost stopping him from breathing. The beast doesn’t move, Stiles can barely even see the rise and fall of the wolf’s chest. It just stares at him. Why doesn’t the wolf attack?

Stiles takes an involuntary step backwards, straining to take off too, rather than get left back here, alone. If he runs, the wolf will chase him and inevitably catch him. If he stays, he will have to fight.  
Stiles stares, waiting, breathing steam, knife in hand, like an idiot, because the weapon is not going to save him, not against this beast.  
The wolf takes a step in his direction, down the slope, very slowly. Stiles knows the beast is going to charge but the wolf just looks at him, showing his teeth, staring. Stiles doesn’t know if he’s ready yet, but it won’t be a choice, he’s sure. Then the wolf lunges, claws out and teeth barred as it descends upon him.

Stiles is committed, he has to run or he’s dead. He takes off after Sam and Dave, running as hard as he can, crashing through brambles, leaping over logs, dodging trees. He can feel his heart trying to jump out of his chest, sweat is pouring down his face and soaking into his shirt. His breath is coming in gasps and he can feel the pain of exertion in his entire body.

Stiles hears the sounds of the beast, its paws thundering across the ground, steady, swift and inexorably closer. His mind, a tornado of thoughts and feelings. Fear for the inevitable pain that awaits him. Visions of wolf claws, teeth, and soft human flesh tearing flash behind his eyes.  
Stiles sees movement from the corner of his eye, and it feels like white hot lances of fire just stabbed into his leg. He yells in pain, stumbles, then increases his speed, gasping at the sudden flare of panic and the thoughts of death running through his mind. The Alpha growls in frustration, not wanting its prey to escape.

Pushing through the vegetation more quickly, Stiles scarcely notices the myriad stings against his skin and the rapid breaths burning in his chest. He runs to the left, zigzagging around trees as the beast pursues him. Stiles bursts into a clearing just as the Alpha catches up with him, the enormous wolf knocks him down, causing him to drop his knife.  
He attempts to stand but the wolf keeps attacking him, wearing Stiles down, pushing him to the ground, trying to get Stiles to surrender. He tries to get on his feet, but the wolf slams into him again, making Stiles scream out in pain and defeat. As he falls down, the Alpha drapes himself over Stiles, holding him down with incredible force. Why doesn’t the wolf just end it right here?

Stiles struggles to get away from the wolf, heart racing at the possible consequences. He knows it’s useless, but he just can’t help it, something inside him refuses to surrender so easily. His actions bring on an utterly terrifying growl from the beast.  
Stiles gives up his battle when he feels claws tear open his bicep, the hot, sharp line of pain breaking his resolve. He knows that if he makes any sudden movements, the Alpha might bite his head off without a second thought.  
So he stays down, lets his body sink into the ground, his muscles noticeably relax before he melts beneath the wolf, a prisoner broken under conditioning.

The cold is a persistent blanket he can't shake off, leaving him a shivering mess on the wet ground. Distantly, Stiles realizes that he is lying under an enormous beast, but his mind is foggy and he can't recall how he ended up here. He feels almost numb, which should be unsettling, but really, all it does is bring temporary relief.  
The persistent pain of claws digging in his thigh shock Stiles from his sluggish haze and he is acutely aware of his surroundings all too abruptly, everything from the gigantic wolf on top of him to the feel of blood oozing out of his body.

Wolf eyes meet his own and Stiles recognizes a blend of human emotion, even familiar anger and desire in the wolf’s expression. His mind tries to process what he is seeing, but can’t find any logical explanation as of why the beast’s eyes are suddenly red, like they've been bleeding. 

As he is being prodded, sniffed, pushed and pulled, Stiles lets out a soft whine, anticipating the violent end to come. Instead of delivering the final blow, the Alpha shoves his violent, dirty snout upon Stiles’s delicate, soft lips and forces his tongue inside. Stiles snaps his teeth down on the dominant intruding tong, the taste of blood filling his mouth, receiving a harsh bite to his lips as punishment. Stiles tries to turn his head to the side but the wolf simply follows the movement with a lick to his lips and shoves his tongue back inside. Stiles doesn't fight it, just lets the wolf explore his mouth. 

At some point Stiles is convinced he is already dead, or dying and hallucinating the whole thing. His mind is working overtime, trying to catch up with the fact that he is being French kissed by a wolf.

When the beast finally pulls away, it rests his snout against Stiles’s nose, and their breaths mingle until Stiles can’t distinguish between the two.

He has seen some strange wolf behavior during his hunts, but none as crazy as this. There was simply no mention of this weird conduct in any wolf handbook. From everything he ever read about wolves and all the lessons he received from his grandfather, nothing even remotely resembles this kind of wolf behavior towards humans.

Somehow between one breath and the next, Stiles has his fingers in the wolf’s fur. It's soft and wet at the same time, hot and sweaty under the grim coating of dirt and blood.  
The wolf is sniffing his neck now, in a curious and completely non-threatening, but still kind of disturbing way.  
Stiles exhales and puts the slightest pressure on the skin, trying to create some distance between him and the beast. Immediately, the Alpha starts growling like he’s about to find out what Stiles’s insides taste like. The growl goes high, wavers over the line from warning to threatening, and every single hair on Stiles’s body stands up. He slowly draws his hand back, and miraculously doesn't lose control of his bladder.  
The low rumble that had been going continuously drops low, and then stops completely. Stiles can't help the shaky little noise of relief he makes.

And then it hits Stiles. Wolf mating rituals. His mind had been searching for the answer in the wrong place, focused on wolf behavior towards humans, when the truth was right in front of his eyes, wolf courtship, the beast is courting him.  
Wolves mate for life. Once a wolf finds his mate, it will court the animal of his desire, and once the mate accepts, a claiming will follow. If the mate refuses, the wolf will show dominance and attempt to forcefully mount his mate.

As if to confirm his line of thought, the wolf starts panting as his large red cock starts to reveal itself, shooting out from his sheath, soon swelling to its full 8 inches.

Refusal to mate will result in a fight. If Stiles loses, and survives, then the Alpha will have him anyway.  
Stiles decides, ignoring what his survival instincts are telling him, and growls at the beast, refusing the wolf as his mate.

Displeased by this turn of events, the wolf shows his teeth, like the possibility that he's going to rip out Stiles's throat is still an option here.  
Another rumbling noise escapes the beast’s throat, it clearly doesn’t like his answer, and is more than prepared to change Stiles’s mind, savagely and enthusiastically, if his leaking cock is anything to go by.

Stiles closes his eyes, knowing now that he'll never see his father again, because his mother was right, fight and die or surrender and live, but surrender isn’t in the cards for him, he’s just not wired that way. So Stiles prepares himself to leave this world, hopefully taking the wolf with him, if only he can reach his knife. 

Stiles freezes when a sudden howl echoes in the distance, shocking the Alpha out of his lustful daze. He uses the momentary distraction to his advantage, pulling away from the wolf, creating enough space for his feet to kick the momentarily distracted beast, allowing him to escape. 

Stiles doesn’t stick around long enough to make sure the beast doesn’t follow him. He runs as fast as his limbs can carry him, away from the horny wolf, whose angry howls fill the entire forest. His feet carry him deeper into the dense woods, where the ground is softly illuminated by the full moon. Aside from his exhausted pants and the patter of his feet hitting the dirt floor, the air is still and the forest silent. Stiles grunts as he collides with another human and is thrown backwards onto the hard forest floor. 

He looks up from his position on the ground, accepting the hand that reaches for him.  
“How are you both still alive?” Stiles asks, looking into the familiar eyes of Sam and Dave.  
“What did you expect us to be?” Sam turns around, regards him curiously, eyebrows knitting together.  
“Dead. The wolves killed you.”  
“Obviously not.”  
“How is this real?” Stiles reaches out to make sure Dave is alive, solid, real. He expects his hand to just go straight through, but instead it makes contact with Dave’s hair. “How are you still alive?”  
“We almost weren’t. They had us cornered until other wolves attacked.”  
Dave places a comforting hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Can you fucking believe it? We were saved by another pack.”  
Stiles, for once, is struck speechless.  
“We should join forces with those other wolves and take these mother fuckers down for good.”  
Stiles has every intention of laughing, but his lungs feel like they're on fire and all he wants to do is sleep.  
“Are you ok Stiles?” The grin on Dave’s face is immediately replaced with a more solemn look.  
“Yes, fine. So another pack?”  
“This means the wolves have left their own territory behind to hunt us. Wolves don’t do that unless we have something that belongs to them.” Sam responds, looking threateningly at Stiles.

To be continued …

* * *

Please share your thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

He blinks, or at least he thinks he does, but when he opens his eyes again, there is undeniable panic written on Dave’s face, like his eyes were shut for much longer than a few seconds.

“Just spit it out, Sam.” Stiles tightens his grip on a nearby tree trunk just to keep from reaching out and hitting Sam in an unnecessarily violent way. “Did you hear me?”

Somewhere in the distance, wolves howl, sounds of an ongoing battle reverberate through the landscape. 

“You’re the reason Matt and Liam are dead.” Sam begins, and it sounds cruel, but Stiles doesn't even flinch, just stares at Sam, face blank. “We all know these wolves aren’t behaving normal. You claim to be the wolf expert. So tell us Stiles, what do these beasts want, what have you been hiding?”

“You want to talk about blame, Sam? Who wanted to hand me over to these beasts?” Stiles asks, his voice dangerously low.

“Don’t you dare blame me for trying to save my own life. Why don’t you just answer the question Stiles?” 

“Blaming each other isn’t going to get us out of here.” Dave pauses, the muted sounds of battle have grown into a deafening roar. “We shouldn’t stand around here. We have to move.”

“It doesn’t matter, we’re all dead as long as Stiles stays with us.”

“Enough! This is madness Sam, we need to run, now!” Dave can’t keep the desperation and fear from his voice.

Sam shakes his head. “No, I want Stiles to tell us what happened to him!”

A familiar cold causes Stiles to shiver, and he suddenly remembers the warm dominant tongue of the Alpha exploring his mouth in an attempt to court him.  
He places a hand on the mossy bark of a tree trunk to support his weight as he gasps to fill his lungs with the earthy air. He leans on the tree and slowly slides his body down to a sitting position, the sounds of destruction from the ongoing battle for dominance still raging in the distance.

“That bad?” Dave asks. Stiles nods. “Worse.” It doesn’t explain anything, but Dave doesn’t push, Sam, however, does.  
“We never saw the Alpha when we ran, not even when the other pack attacked.”  
Stiles looks up, making eye contact with Sam. “He stayed behind, with me.”  
“You faced the Alpha alone and lived?” 

Stiles sighs, wiping a hand tiredly down his face, trying to rub the mud and dirt off his cheek with the filthy sleeve of his shirt. Dave smirks a little at his attempt to clean up, which probably just results in him moving the dirt around. 

Stiles closes his eyes. He doesn't want to tell Sam what happened, but he also knows Sam isn’t going to let it go.

“For some unexplainable reason this wolf thinks of me as his mate.” Stiles lets out a long breath, looking down at the ground. He doesn't say anything more for a while. Dave and Sam are clearly expecting him to add to his sudden revelation, if the way Sam looks at him is anything to go by. 

“Are you sure?” Dave asks suddenly, tucking a strand of brown hair back under his hat. “I mean, how can you be certain?”

The next few minutes are too quiet. Sam toying with the zipper of his jacket is the loudest sound in the entire forest now that the wolf battle seems to have ended, according to the lack of howls.

“Trust me, I’m sure. There was no doubt in what that damn beast wanted to do to me.”  
“That is seriously fucked up.” Sam rubs a hand over his face. He looks old, worn down and haggard, and Stiles wonders if it’s because this is exactly what Sam had suspected all along or worse?  
“It’s also the only reason I’m still alive.” And, damn, didn’t that make him sick as fuck to say out loud, but it was true.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles can see Dave casting him worried looks. “He didn't ... hurt you, or anything, did he?”  
“No, not really.” Stiles hesitates, biting his lower lip. “I guess the other pack saved me too.”

Stiles refuses to think about what would’ve happened if that howl had never come.  
He doesn’t believe that his big revelation actually fixed anything between him and Sam. He just feels worse, and Dave looks like he feels worse, or more scared, or something. He never wants to do this again.

Before Dave can help, Stiles picks himself up from the ground and starts walking in the direction of the ended battle.

“Stiles, you’re walking towards the fight, the wolves-“  
“will be long gone by now.” Stiles half turns, his eyes focus on Dave.  
“How can you be sure?”  
“Because a battle like that will attract other animals, predators. No matter which side won, both packs are wounded and won’t risk getting into another fight.”  
Sam narrows his eyes at him. “Nothing you just said makes me change my mind.”  
“Do what you like but I’d rather know who won. If this new pack is bigger and stronger, then I’m not going to invade more of their territory.”  
“Makes sense.” Dave mutters. He pats Stiles on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”  
Sam runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated and upset, but he follows anyway. 

Stiles hopes there will be no more questions, because all he wants is to get a minute to think, before these damn wolves are on them again. He thinks about making a trap, preferably a deadfall. He knows how it’s done, his grandfather showed him many times, but he also knows the ground is too hard to dig and they have no bait, and he can’t think of any other kind of traps they could make or what to make them with.

He stops, looks back, stands there, trying to breathe, again, or think, again, at least think a little about where they’re heading, so they aren’t just circling back on themselves, or the wolves. Ahead of him, the path slopes down to a little descend and it looks like an easy slope to follow, and Stiles is weak, now, so he follows what is easy. Dave sees him take that line, or just follows his back, not even looking up, or thinking. When you’ve been tramping as long as they have, you just follow the back in front.

The forest is less thick than it was, and clouds must have shifted or the cover is sparser, moon is coming down, Stiles can see openings pop out here and there, not giant clearings like the one they came from but little spaces, rocks bulging up, little snow gullies that seem easier going than stepping over the roots and logs.

Stiles slows down, slower than the dead-leg crawl he’s been doing, to try and catch a little breath, only to stop dead in his tracks at the scene in front of him.

“All’s fair in war.” A familiar voice whispers to him as a freezing gust of wind blows past, and Stiles nods as he looks upon the carnage that is slowly being covered by pure snow.

Around him, wolves, dead and dying, stretching as far as the eye can see. It feels as if all the heat in his body has left him. Being so close to death amplifies everything to the point where for a whole minute Stiles has to focus on just breathing and pulling himself together.

“Jesus, this wasn’t a battle, this was a massacre.”

Dead wolves litter the ground, and teeth marks can be seen on all of them. Blood seeps from various wounds, trickling to the ground beneath, producing a sick odor. Organs scattered everywhere, the result of a brutal slaughter.

“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about that other pack anymore.” Sam sucks in a sharp breath, his attempt at humor falling on deaf ears.

Stiles glances at the ground and realizes that his footprints aren’t the only ones in the sand. He turns around and sees his own trail of footprints along with many others, none of them belonging to Sam and Dave.  
Sure enough, Stiles is surrounded by footprints of people who’ve clearly walked around here during the battle. No prints coming in, just returning back to the forest.

An unusual large wolf lies dead at the edge of the battlefield, surrounded by more lacerated beasts of a smaller variety, torn to shreds for the most part.  
Sweat pours down Stiles’s face as he puts his foot down and pushes forward past the mangled animals. He finds a second set of footprints next to the dead Alpha.  
Now this wolf put up a fight, but was no match for the other beast, Stiles can relate, only minutes ago he had been at the mercy of the same enemy.  
Large paw prints are stamped into the moist earth at the other side of the dead wolf, unmistakably belonging to his Alpha stalker. A clear trail of footprints over wolf prints can be seen at the head of the animal corpse. Even as an experienced wilderness tracker, Stiles cannot clearly make out what happened there, it almost looks as if the paw prints mingle with the human footprints.  
He straightens and looks off into the direction the prints marked. He’s about to follow the trail when he hears footsteps on the snow, not belonging to Sam and Dave.  
Stiles immediately whirls around, the motion causing a wave of pain to erupt between his eyes and down his neck, to which he suppresses a groan.

“Don’t be alarmed. I mean none of you any harm.” The owner of the voice comes out of the shadows. A tall, well-built man comes into view, a big smile etched on his face, and a standard issue hunting rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Who the fuck are you and where the hell did you come from?” Stiles lifts his chin up, challenging, a wooden log in his hand, prepared.  
“My name is Scott McCall. I’m a local hunter, I own a cabin up the hill.”

Stiles is struck speechless. It’s too much information, too fast.

“A hunting cabin? Where exactly are we?” Dave is practically jumping up and down, unable to contain his excitement.  
“Denali. The village is only a couple of miles ahead of us.”

Stiles considers this. He knows the plane was way off course when it came down, making the chance of them being anywhere near a city as good as impossible.  
He attempts a few questions but soon Sam steamrolls his way through the conversation.  
It doesn’t escape Stiles’s attention that Scott not once asks Sam how he came to be here, like Scott already knows.

“Do you have any means of communicating with the town. A radio perhaps?” Sam asks with ill-concealed hope.  
Scott nods. “Absolutely.”  
“Oh thank god!” Sam’s grin takes up his whole face.  
“We can be at my cabin in ten minutes.” Scott motions for the others to follow him.

“I’m not going back there and neither should you. Do you not see the dead wolves at your feet?” Stiles swallows before he continues. “I’ve never seen wolves massacre each other like this, not even over territory.” He realizes in that exact moment that Scott doesn’t seem fazed by the carnage around him, as if it’s an everyday occurrence.

“Don’t worry, I have a gun remember. You have nothing to fear from those wolves, Stiles.”

He doesn’t remember introducing himself to Scott, but then again, maybe Sam told Scott their names when Stiles was too busy thinking about the possibility, or lack thereof, of a nearby village. 

“It’s not just wolves we have to worry about, do you see these footprints, clearly human.” Stiles can't figure out what Scott is thinking, and he doesn't like the feeling of being watched the way Scott is watching him.  
“Probably just some other local hunters who passed this very spot yesterday.”  
Stiles throws his arms up in disbelief. “Barefoot? In the snow? Because these aren’t boot prints, but foot prints.”  
“What the hell does it matter, Stiles? Let’s go before we freeze to death or have another encounter with those damn wolves.” Sam snaps. 

Before Stiles can protest, Dave and Sam are already walking in the direction of the alleged cabin. Scott’s shoulders seem to deflate, his whole face relaxes, like the slew of facts Stiles threw at his head earlier had him worried. “The cabin is just up the hill.” Scott says with a smile. Stiles reluctantly follows.

He watches the trees ahead as he walks, looks to the side, and behind him. He’s listening, but he can’t hear much more than Dave’s heavy feet thudding the snow, and his own loud breathing. Scott leads them into the dense forest again, with much less moon than they had moments ago.  
Stiles keeps seeing shadows in the corner of his eye. Every time he’s sure a wolf is walking alongside them in the dark, it isn't there. Aside from wind blowing through the trees, nothing’s moving. So there's nothing to do but keep on. But Stiles stops over and over for shadows in his eye, and little sounds buried in the wind, but there’s never anything, no wolves.  
He keeps going, watching the dark, his ear cocked for paws in the snow or howls far away.

Stiles stops, again, Dave does too, a low-growl echoes through the trees, behind them or ahead. “You hear it?” Stiles asks. Dave stays still, listens. It’s a wolf howling, or wolves growling. Just shreds of sound, coming and going as wind wanders this way or that, like the river Stiles thought he heard before. All of them, Scott and Sam now too, are standing there, afraid to move, Stiles is, anyway, he’s still listening, and hears another shred, then nothing.

Something comes flying at Dave, jumps out of the dark and locks on to his face. Dave screams, turning and falling over. Sam and Scott just stare at him, with their eyes wide, Stiles does too, trying to remember if wolves can crack skulls.  
Once the initial shock wears off, Stiles runs at Dave and sees Sam getting his stick up, about to charge too when he’s hit sideways, like Stiles was before, it smacks him into a tree before Stiles has gotten to Dave. But before Stiles can do anything to help Dave, the wolf lets him go, jumps off Dave, lopes off, leaving him bleeding. And Stiles turns to the one on Sam, who’s still pinned against the tree the wolf slammed him into, trying to fight it off, flailing at it with his knife and trying to push it off him with his other hand. Then just as suddenly, the wolf on Sam snarls and flips away, hops off him, runs into the dark, just like that. 

Maybe the wolf thought Stiles would’ve killed him, he’s not sure he could have. If the beast had stayed and tried, it might have killed all of them. Stiles looks at Sam, on the ground, he’s spent, more than he was before, if he could be. Stiles is surprised he held that one off alone, that long. Stiles wonders if the wolves did it on purpose, just run in and wound them, let them bleed. 

Stiles runs over to Dave, as well as he can run, and Dave’s bleeding too, Stiles can’t tell how bad, but he’s awake. Stiles realizes he can’t see Scott anywhere, expecting the worst. But he’s sitting against a tree, staring, Stiles thinks he sat through the whole thing too scared to do anything, and nobody blames him, because not one of them didn't want to do the same thing he did. But still, it’s abnormal behavior for a hunter, even when confronted with these abnormally large wolves. 

Dave sits in the snow, heavy as a corpse, staring, bleeding like hell. Stiles tries to think of how to wrap him up.  
Dave shakes his head. “Sweet God,” he says. And he starts to sob, very tired fearful small sobs, coming quietly out of him, in the cold.  
“Why didn’t you use your gun?” Sam yells at Scott, his face wrought with anger.  
“It all happened too fast, I couldn’t get a clear shot.” is all Scott replies. 

Suddenly a big wolf comes out of the dark, the Alpha, at as hard a run as Stiles has seen any of them do, and he smacks into Sam like a bullet, Sam barely looks up before the wolf closes his jaws around his neck and shoulder and doesn’t seem to slow down at all. Stiles can see blood gushing out where the wolf grabs Dave in his teeth. He watches as the Alpha runs away into the dark with Sam, who doesn’t get a sound out, he just flies out of sight over the snow, under the wolf, and Stiles just stands there too shocked still to do anything.

“Sam!” Dave yells, and he runs after Sam, Stiles and Scott follow, all of them yelling for Sam over and over, stumbling around in the dark, and there’s nothing, no snarling, no other wolves, no Sam calling back, there’s nothing, he’s gone.  
Stiles stops yelling and looks at the others. He knew Sam was gone the moment the Alpha grabbed him. Sam never stood a chance. 

Then Stiles sees the big one, again, close, but on the other side of a slope, watching.  
“I’ll hold them off, you guys run for the cabin.” Scott’s hands are steady on the gun as he advances towards the Alpha.  
“No.” Stiles says weakly, while his brain turns the idea over. “We will never make it, he’s going to hunt us down.”  
“I’m counting on it. If that wolf even moves an inch to the left, he’s dead.” Scott is looking at the Alpha with a strange sort of intensity, making Stiles almost feel sorry for the wolf.

“Stiles, it’s you those wolves want.” Dave whispers. “Running is our only hope. We can’t fight them.”  
“It’s just over there.” Scott takes one hand off his gun and points into the direction of the cabin.  
Before Stiles has time to come up with a reply, he’s being dragged towards his destination and has no choice but to run. 

It’s hard to run quietly through a forest. Stiles is horribly conscious about every cracked twig and knows he and Dave are leaving a wide trail of footprints in the soft earth, making it easier for the wolves to follow their scent. Stiles is running in front of Dave now, all his hard work during lacrosse practice finally put to some use. 

A slope forces them down, and as they make the drop on one side, another slope rises across from it, bounding them. Stiles can see they’re in a gully, slopes on both sides, stretching as far ahead as he can see. Nothing to do but follow it, and hope they are heading in the right direction.

Stiles is so busy thinking about keeping a steady pace, focused on his breathing, and calculating his direction when he realizes he’s forgetting about the wolves, like all he has to worry about is the easiest way to walk home. And finally, sure enough, a wolf appears, on the rise above them, following along parallel with Stiles and Dave, looking down. It’s alone, which makes Stiles worry, the others are either in front of them where Stiles can’t see, about to rush in on him, or behind them, quietly killing Scott. He hasn’t heard any gunshots since he and Dave started running, so the latter is most likely a very real possibility.  
Stiles turns around to look at Dave to see if he sees the wolf too, but Dave isn’t there. 

Stiles stops, looks around, he can’t see past the endless carcasses of deer, rabbits and birds littering the ground, but he doesn’t need to in order to know where he is.  
“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.” Stiles curses. He’s standing in the middle of a fucking wolf den. 

To be continued …

* * *

Please share your thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

He doesn’t know how long he actually stands there, minutes or hours of wind whooshing around his face, Dave nowhere in sight. His body starts shaking when the reality of the situation hits him. Everything comes back to him in an instant. Wolves. Dave. Plane crash. Fire. Paw prints in the snow. Screams. Rotting flesh. Blood. Then came Scott with the promise of rescue, with a gun to protect them, delivering hope, but in the end, betraying them. Stiles’s survival had been dependent on hope, hope to one day see his father again, now only a dream, crumbling at his feet.  
He almost falls to his knees when his body catches up with the situation and his brain realizes the danger he is in, releasing adrenaline, and creating a panic attack. So holding himself upright is suddenly a heroic effort.  
When he finally realizes he has to move if he wants to live, his body refuses to cooperate. He has been pushing his luck in this hell long enough, it’s bound to run out at some point. Days of hunger and fear are at work as he struggles to surface, coming up out of his stupor, breaking past the threshold with a loud sigh.  
He must have ran quite a distance, he thinks while glancing back quickly to judge the proximity and then turns back to the wolf den, where he freezes like a statue.

A man. Four meters in front of him. A very muscular, naked man stands in the middle of the wolf den, water dripping off his body in rivulets. Dark red eyes watching him as prey and blocking his escape route successfully.  
Stiles keeps his eyes locked on the man’s bright red ones, his stubborn streak is the only thing keeping his eyes from drifting south, or anywhere else on the man’s body, because wow, talk about perfect genetics.

Stiles isn’t exactly sure what to make out of this absolutely ridiculous situation. The naked man standing in the wolf den, casually staring at him does seem to be a little familiar, but the shock and adrenaline are, as per tradition, stronger. There are about a dozen possible outcomes running through Stiles’s mind and he latches onto his survival instincts, trying to clear his head. His hands ball into fists, he stops when red eyes lock with his and then swiftly travel to observe his hands.  
His body is preparing to fight or flee. The only chance is that he’s quicker, but given the man’s muscle definition, Stiles decides that trying to find it out would only bring him closer to trouble. So he stands still, waiting and bracing himself for the possible confrontation.  
His heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest for sure now, wildly crashing against his ribs. The red color of the man’s eyes are intimidating to say the least, but apart from his stare, the stranger doesn’t do anything else. He just stands there, watching Stiles… expectantly?

“My, what big… eyes you have.” Stiles whispers in a haze of stupidity and the man growls. Really growls, like a wild animal. Stiles takes a few more steps back and the growl drops deeper and more dangerous. He stays put, completely paralyzed. The man paces around him a few times, sniffing, but otherwise doesn’t do anything threatening, until Stiles moves, then the man growls again, a deep, rich vibration through his bared teeth. The red eyed stranger circles him like this at least three times, catching his smell, and…

Then it happens.

Stiles’s eyes grow big, his heart beats even more erratic than five minutes earlier as he watches the transformation before him. It takes only a couple of seconds for the naked guy to disappear. In the place where he stood just a moment ago, a big black wolf, licking its left paw.  
That’s his cue to start running once more, Stiles’s brain supplies helpfully, so he forces his body to move and darts out into the forest. His heartbeat pounds in his ears so loudly he thinks it must be heard all over the woods, rabbiting in his ribcage with the cadence of a machine gun. His legs hurt and his body operates probably only on the power of his sheer will, but he pushes stubbornly forward, jumping over the fallen trees, clutching to his luck tightly for not tripping and face-planting somewhere.  
He glances back, thankfully without killing himself, and realizes he is not being chased, so his legs immediately stop and give out completely. He’s lucky to have arms still functional, because they halt his fall just in time before he brakes his nose.  
He stays on all fours for a while, catching his breath, gulping air into his abused lungs and then he props himself on his heels. There isn’t even time to think or plan, he is shaking and dead tired when the growl echoes and a pack of huge wolves appear out of nowhere, approaching him slowly, but non-threateningly. His stalker, the big black wolf makes his appearance from the dark, stands between Stiles and the others, snarling warningly, all muscles tense and ready to lunge forward at the other wolves in his pack. Stiles backs away until a tree stops his retreat. The other wolves let out disappointed huffs and retreat, disappearing into the woods.

For a long moment Stiles stares in disbelief at the wolf, who makes no attempt to attack him, before he finally understands what is happening. Looking at the beast, answers start flooding his mind, making Stiles light-headed once he realizes it, realizes what the wolf is, who the wolf is. Seems obvious now, all those weird encounters make so much more sense, as Stiles lifts his head, reluctantly, to face the beast in front of him. The wolf. The wolf is the man. No. The man is the wolf.  
“You’re a werewolf.” he stammers weakly, not surprised when the wolf does not react.  
He tries again. “Who are…“ But before he can get the question out, the wolf lets out a growl that sends an icy chill through Stiles and forces him back.

As it begins to morph: straightening, hair retracting, and snout shortening as it changes, Stiles recognizes the mutated human form it is becoming and this new information paralyzes him with fear, his chest rising and falling rapidly.  
The black wolf is gone, instead stands a black-haired man, watching him intently with his red eyes. He is probably as tall as Stiles, with messy hair and a deadly serious expression. Stiles blinks a few times in confusion and when the silence is the only response he gets, he coughs a bit and asks…  
“Who are you?”  
The dark figure raises an eyebrow, a silent gesture which makes Stiles even more confused.  
“Alright…” he awkwardly looks away from the guy, from the very naked guy. Stiles still didn’t have the boldness in him to look lower than his face, so he just imagines the man has pants at least, when the upper part of his body doesn’t have any cloth on it, only dirt and scratches.  
“I’m Stiles. You’ve just given me a heart attack, so… you can at least tell me your name.” he starts to babble again, but he tends to do that when he gets nervous.  
“Who am I?” the man asks in a raspy voice as if he has not talked for a long time.  
“Yes?” Stiles tries. “I’m Stiles.”  
“You’re mine.” the man says.  
“No, not yours. Stiles.”  
“Mine.” comes a reply as the man lays his own hand on his bare chest. Stiles follows that movement with his eyes and then it is his turn to raise an eyebrow in question.  
“Is this all a joke to you?”  
“Joke?” the man asks, confused. “You’re here, so it’s real. Are you ready for me to claim you?”  
“What? And also, what?” Stiles concentrates on breathing evenly in and out, as Derek watches him with interest.  
“Let’s try this again.” Stiles says, and after a long pause adds, “My name is Stiles.”  
“Derek.” says the man. He sounds just the slightest bit uncertain about it, as though he has not heard his own name for a long time.  
“Derek…” Stiles shakes his head, trying to clear it. “How would you feel about letting me go so I can look for my friend Dave?”  
Derek cocks his head, the exact way that the wolf did before. “Why would I do that?” he asks. “I haven’t claimed you yet.” At the words, the man’s eyes flash a dangerous red. “Besides, Dave is… gone.”  
“You ate him?”  
“We don’t eat humans.” Derek looks blank. “Humans taste foul.”  
“No, you just slaughter them.”  
Derek’s eyebrows knit together in frustration, like it’s physically paining him to see Stiles. “We defend our territory against invaders.”  
“You killed all of my friends. None of which were a threat to you.” Stiles mumbles angrily and steps away from the man. Which isn’t the best idea because that makes him look down and the wolf really doesn’t have any pants on. At all. Thank god it is dark. Also, no real response comes.  
“Can you at least tell me what you plan to do with me?” Stiles sighs dramatically and keeps his eyes up as best as he can. Right now, he focuses on the black hair that probably never met a comb in its life.  
“We will proceed with the claiming. Take off your clothes.”  
“No, I don’t think so.”  
“Why would you refuse me? Don’t you recognize your own mate?” Derek grunts.  
“No, I don’t, and I am standing in 3 feet of snow, so if you don’t want your, I can’t believe I’m saying this, mate to die, I suggest you hold off on anything that includes me naked.”  
“Yes, you are human, not wolf, the cold doesn’t bother us.”  
“Clearly.”  
“I will take you back to my den. We will complete the claiming there.”  
“And if I refuse?” For a moment, his body tenses as he waited for Derek to answer.  
“You will die here.”  
Stiles’s skin turns even colder at hearing Derek’s words, but he doesn’t try to move back. He simply looks at Derek with wide eyes. “You’re going to kill me if I don’t agree to go with you?”  
Derek shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. “No, but you will freeze to death, or die of starvation, if you stay here.”

Stiles runs all possible options and outcomes through his mind, hoping he will find a plan that will get him out of this mess if he just tries hard enough. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, and runs through the calculations in his mind, again, cursing the sluggishness still clinging to his thought processes. Damn cold.

Derek suddenly holds out his hand. Stiles blinks a few times and the expectant look on the naked man’s face grows impatient. He glances down at the hand offered to him, unfolding his own fingers instinctively. He doesn’t want to go with the man responsible for murdering all other survivors, but he is out of options, and if he wants to live and see his father again, this wolf might be his only chance.

He steps toward Derek, takes his hand, filing the fact that Derek’s fingers slide alongside his like they belong there, in a secluded corner of his mind, and lets the wolf guide him towards their destination.

To be continued…

Please share your thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Non-Con touching in this chapter!

Chapter 8: Sperm Bath

Stiles wakes up with a strange taste in his mouth. It is warm, salty, and a little bit bitter. Also, he has apparently been drooling in his sleep, which is just awkward. Groaning, he reaches to wipe his chin, only to realize that it isn’t spit, but a warm, white, sticky liquid, instantly reminding him of sperm. He nearly chokes, immediately spitting the fluid out and wiping his face incessantly with his hand.

He tries to turn around under the covers. However, it seems to be currently impossible, mainly because of a dead weight curled all over the lower parts of his body. Before he turns his face, Stiles realizes that he’s being cuddled and the weight is actually a person. He tries to remember the last thing before he went to sleep. Unfortunately, the only thing he remembers is a black-haired man leading him through the forest, offering food and a place to sleep. As soon as his head had touched the soft fur, Stiles had been out. He most certainly does not remember partaking in any sexual activities. 

Looking down at himself, he realizes that he is mostly naked, wearing nothing but his thin, white, boxers. Stiles tries to concentrate, which is surprisingly difficult. Then, panic sets in. He can feel the questions burning inside his mind, though he refuses to examine the possible answers.   
Was the food he ate drugged? Did the wolf man rape him?   
He shudders once but stays flat on his back, afraid to move, terrified of waking the beast. To stop himself from losing his mind, he looks to the sky, where the sun is maybe an hour away from rising. He bites his bottom lip hard, tries to get his heartbeat back under control. Then he remembers, the man’s large member, his virgin ass. And it hits him. He would be in pain or discomfort if the wolf had been inside him.

The weight suddenly disappears from his shoulders. Stiles turns and finds himself looking into the face of the wolf.  
“You smell so innocent.” Derek states, sniffing the air.  
“That’s none of your business.” Stiles argues, covering his body with the fur blanket he is under.  
Arranging his big form around him, Derek tangles their legs together.  
“Get off me!” Stiles demands, he can feel the heat of Derek’s breath on his lips.   
Derek watches him for a moment, then tears away the blanket Stiles is desperately clinging to. “I can’t do that.”  
Stiles stirs in response to the feeling of Derek’s naked body against his and shifts enough to avoid their members from touching.  
“Your body should get used to mine, and recognize my scent.”   
Derek presses his nose against Stiles’s neck, forcing his chin up, and takes a long, apparently very satisfying sniff. Stiles yelps at the sensation of a wet tongue and then flat human teeth against the sensitive skin of his jugular. He firmly closes his eyes and draws in a few breaths, tears involuntarily escaping his eyes.   
Derek gently touches his cheek. “Don’t be frightened, Stiles. Please.” The wolf begs. “I would never hurt you.”  
Stiles shakes his head frantically. “I don’t believe that. I don’t trust-” Trembling lips prevent him from speaking his mind.  
Derek opens his mouth and then closes it. Instead, he responds by running his thumb over Stiles’s trembling lips. The wolf leans down and presses his mouth against him. Stiles gasps in surprise and Derek deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue inside, tasting him. As Derek pulls away before Stiles can protest, he runs his thumb over Stiles’s now swollen steady lips.

“I can hear your heart,” Derek informs, sounding amused. “Like a little squirrel.”   
He slides his hand around the back of Stiles’s neck and pulls him forward, forcing their heads together. Stiles squirms but finds himself pressed more firmly against Derek, until finally he has to breathe. He caves under the wolf’s attack, inhaling Derek’s essence; a mix between sweat, trees and something earthy.  
“Good squirrel,” Derek strokes the hair at the back of his head. “Now you know my scent.”  
The smell triggers something inside Stiles, sending flares of warning and cold terror through his body, making muscles twitch and tremble with adrenaline and fear. All the memories of the last four days resurface and bombard his mind.   
With a force he didn’t know he possesses, Stiles punches Derek square in the nose, hearing it break before he sees the blood. Startled, Derek moves back, hands thrown up protectively in front of his face.  
Stiles quickly stands, covering his body with the fur Derek pulled away from him earlier, and putting some distance between him and the wounded wolf.  
Blood drips from Derek’s nose, staining the ground beneath him. The wolf’s movements indicate an attempt to stand.  
“Stay down!” Stiles warns, and surprisingly, Derek obeys.   
Stiles might not know how to fight a wolf but he knows how to wound a man. And it’s clear that Derek is not used to anyone opposing him, if the look of utter surprise on his face is anything to go by. 

“You killed all of my friends. You’re a monster.” Stiles accuses. “I want nothing to do with you!”  
“I was protecting my pack. If I allowed them to escape, they would have alerted the authorities and hunters would come.” Derek defends quickly, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose, attempting to put the bones back in place, and not much caring when the blood drips from his nose onto his bare chest.  
“You would have slaughtered innocent women and children to protect your pack?” Stiles asks in disbelief. “You could have stayed hidden. You could have relocated. There was no need for violence.”  
Before Stiles’s disbelieving eyes, the broken skin on top of Derek’s nose knits itself together, until it is completely restored. Stiles then realizes with horrifying clarity that this man is invincible and that he is a fool to think that he will ever escape him.  
“Children have a hundred percent chance of surviving the bite, women are far more adaptable than men and therefore almost always survive the transformation. We would have turned them. But we could not have relocated, nor could we have stayed hidden.”  
“Then why not turn us, or at least give us a choice?” Desperation evident in Stiles’s voice, while the other man remains cold and emotionless.  
“It is of no importance now. What’s done is done. This is our way.” Derek states, eyebrows arching up, nearly combining with his hairline.  
At this point, Stiles is staring at Derek, bewildered. “It is important to me. And this is most certainly not my way.” Stiles’s voice is heavy with emotion. “You were born a beast, but you choose to be a monster.”  
By the time Derek is able to process what he just said, Stiles is walking towards the forest. 

Rounding a tree, Stiles senses Derek following him. He hears the Alpha’s steps coming closer.  
Stiles stops and closes his eyes, desperately trying to calm his nerves. He knows what Derek wants. He simply can’t let him have it.   
Turning around, Stiles sees Derek advancing on him. The glowing red of his eyes startle him.  
He wishes there was something to cover his nakedness, the fur is not enough against the biting cold.  
“I’ve stopped. What are you trying to achieve? There is no hope for what you want. You’d have more chance claiming one of the rabbits in this fo-”  
Derek’s growl stops him from finishing.  
The wolf advances, fast. Stiles waits, shivering in the snow.   
Derek’s arms grip both of his as he presses Stiles against a tree. The bark biting into his flesh. He ignores the slight pain. Staring into the eyes of the beast, waiting for it to speak.   
Derek’s eyes finally turn green. “If you try to run, you will die out there.”  
Stiles laughs. “I might prefer it to the fate that awaits me if I stay.” He tries to break Derek’s grip, but the wolf’s hold is too strong.  
“You can’t change your fate, Stiles. You will be mine!”  
Before he gets a chance to argue, Derek’s lips slam on his, silencing him.   
His mother’s voice echoes in his mind, so distinctly that it is almost as if she speaks from inside the tree. 

Surrender and live, or run and die.

Stiles feels the hard length of Derek’s cock pressing against his stomach. One of Derek’s hands moves from his arm to sink into the length of his hair as the other grabs his ass. The wolf’s tongue licks along his lips, seeking entry. Stiles is still wriggling in his captor’s arms, much to the annoyance of the man holding him.   
“You can tell me you don’t want me but your scent tells me otherwise.”  
“Scent means nothing.” Stiles protests, still struggling senselessly, even though he knows his attempts are futile.   
“Your cock betrays you, little squirrel. You’re hard.” Derek slips his hand inside Stiles’s boxers, stroking him.  
Heat involuntarily fills his cheeks, the cold no longer a problem.   
“There is no denying what your body needs, Stiles.” Derek claims his lips once again, stopping Stiles from disputing his case.  
No man has ever touched him this way. Derek’s fingers, besides his own, are the first to touch him so intimately. Stiles feels the tip of Derek’s finger pressing to his asshole, pushing inside his entrance, and stopping all kinds of pleasure. Dread, fear, and a desperate need to get away from this beast overwhelm him.  
He might not be able to stop the wolf from claiming him, eventually, but he can stall, buy himself some time.  
“Stop. Please stop.” Stiles begs, his voice breaking. “I’m not ready.”  
A frustrated growl is all Stiles receives in response. For a moment he is afraid Derek will not be able to stop. The wolf’s cock is extremely hard. Pre-cum already leaking from the tip. But much to his relief, the Alpha steps back.  
Suddenly, Derek’s hand travels between his own legs and starts stroking frantically.  
“Wait, what are you-”   
A gentle breeze carries the Alpha’s moan into the forest. Derek catches a handful of his come and rubs it over Stiles’s chest, adding to the mess of dirt and snow that is already there. Stiles shrieks as his nipples are anointed, pinched between wet fingers.   
“This is… gross! Get away from my face, Derek. I mean it.”  
“Need to mark you.” Derek responds, his voice thick with desire.  
Stiles tries to turn his head, but Derek pursues him, rubbing sperm over each cheek and swiping his sticky thumb over Stiles’s lips, slipping a finger inside. “Now everyone knows you’re mine.”  
Stiles tastes a hint of the same spiciness he detected this morning.   
Realization sets in.  
“You did this to me when I was sleeping?” Stiles yells outraged as Derek takes his talking as an invitation to slip more fingers inside.  
Resistance is obviously futile.

At least he bought himself more time…

To be continued…


End file.
